


In 19th Century France We Write Letters

by myhamsterisademon



Category: Le Comte de Monte-Cristo | Count of Monte Cristo - Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo - All Media Types
Genre: Letters, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, the 19th equivalent of a groupchat fic really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:28:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24010576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myhamsterisademon/pseuds/myhamsterisademon
Summary: A miscellany of letters, cards, notes, sketches and private documents of the highest members of the Parisian aristocracy and their various acquaintances, friends and lovers.
Kudos: 12





	In 19th Century France We Write Letters

**Author's Note:**

> this chapter takes place between chapter XXXVIII: The Rendez-vous and chapter XXXIX: The Guests.

**Letter from Monsieur Franz de Quesnel, baron d’Epinay, to Monsieur Albert Mondego, vicomte de Morcerf, 27 rue du Helder, Paris, France**

10th March, 183-

Dearest friend, 

You asked me to write to you as soon as I arrived in Florence. You shall be delighted to read that I am indeed perfectly well, safe for a couple of bruises from the blasted carriages and the fact that I have yet to get used to the Italians and their awful food, as well as their charming character.

The country is pleasant enough, as you may well imagine, the views are quite astonishing and the frescoes are wonderful. The Duomo is stunning, of course. I do wish you were here; your artistic skills would have proved most useful. In your absence (which I regret every day, you have no idea how much I miss you and the others and especially our squabbling friend -- Debray, if you are reading this, yes I am absolutely referring to you), as I was saying, in your absence, I have endeavoured to capture the beauty of the City of Poets in a quick sketch.

Feel free to send back any criticism with your next letter. I shan’t improve as an artist, but at least I will borrow some useful technical terms and boast them in society. 

There isn’t much to say, I am as little a poet as I am a painter, so I hope you do not expect me to describe the beauty and charm and wonders of Florence. To experience them, one has to live them. I shall merely say that I am utterly, completely, entirely, hopelessly in love with the city. There is nothing about it that I dislike. You would love it, I think, more so because it is so entirely different from Paris. 

It is rather small, and I’m fairly certain your looks and fashion would wreak havoc amongst the population, which means you would be noticed always and everywhere. I daresay that is exactly what your vain little self hopes the most.

On that note, I do hope you shall come to me soon. Do not forget our plan, Rome is still waiting for you!

In the meantime, accept my fondest love and deepest affections, to you, Beauchamp, Debray. Do convey my respects to your mother. 

I enclose a present for you, along with my infamous sketch: it’s a pretty little picture of Santa Maria Novella I purchased for a completely unreasonable price, but I like to spoil you. Think of it as something to remember me by, a memento, let us say. I hope you don’t miss me too much, dear.

Ever yours,

Franz 

P.S: when next you write to him, feel free to tell Château-Renaud that my arm still aches dreadfully in wet weather from when he shot me. A little bit of guilt shall do him good.

* * *

**Letter from Monsieur Raoul de Mailly, baron de Château-Renaud, to Monsieur Albert Mondego, vicomte de Morcerf, 27 rue du Helder, Paris, France**

Constantine, 12th March, 183- 

Albert dear old friend,

Things have happened, I have had quite an adventure and I have had quite enough of Algeria. I’m coming back home dear fellow bringing you a friend and a tale in exchange for one of your wonderful meals.

I trust you shall enjoy the newfound company - he is a man of good breeding and excellent spirits as well as a graciousness I have rarely encountered amongst the soldiers, for he is a soldier you see - and I am fairly sure my own story shall match your wild fantasy about those Italian bandits.

Will see you soon.

Raoul de C. 

* * *

**Card, undated, from Monsieur Beauchamp, journalist, to Monsieur Albert Mondego, vicomte de Morcerf**

Albert,

I have nothing to say except that I enclose here a note of the utmost importance. So important, indeed, that that petulant child Lucien felt it necessary to tip the usual young urchin -- who was charged with the difficult endeavour of getting to my journal by crossing three streets and, mind you, a whole square, all the while carrying the terrible burden of a piece of paper -- a grand sum which I have the delicacy not to mention. 

Of course, when I say “tip”, I mean that I of all people had to give the young rascal the money. Blast him. Have fun.

Beau.

P.S: blast Lu, not the young minx, who is a cheeky and entertaining specimen of the _gamin de Paris_.

**Enclosure, undated, unsigned**

Friend, 

I am dreadfully bored here at the ministry. Please distract me with scandalous tales of the city, you old gossiping witch. 

L.

* * *

**Letter, undated, from Monsieur Albert Mondego, vicomte de Morcerf, to Lucien Debray, private secretary to the Minister of the Interior**

Lucien!

I’m writing you because I am well aware we shan’t have time to see each other this week -- when I say “see” I of course don’t mean the literary sense, for I daresay we will have plenty enough time to admire each other at the Danglars’ home to-night; but I mean “see” as in talk and chatter and the usual. 

As I was saying, we shan’t have time to meet properly and I’m afraid I have to scold you. I’m doing it by letter, knowing it will be easier for you to bear: you can always rip this up, smoke it in your pipe, whatever suits you fancy, but at least I shall have done my duty.

B. informs me that you have been harassing him with notes and cards and messages since this morning and, even worse, that you haven’t even had the common courtesy to actually reward the messenger, forcing our dear journalist to pay the fee himself. Really, I would consider that the most dreadful impertinence, if I did not know it is your own twisted way of bestowing your affections on him. 

I have taken it upon myself to distract you. 

Here is the latest news, then: our modern Diana is as cold as ever. Father compelled me to call on her (when I say “compelled” I of course mean “graciously asked me to”, but you know me, his wishes are my command) earlier this week, and it was as dreadful and terrifying as ever. I caught a glimpse of her playing the piano by mademoiselle d’Armilly, and I must say, it was as lovely a picture as I ever saw, except that not a minute later, the dignified mademoiselle Danglars shot me the coldest, deadliest glance that has ever been set upon a young man, undeservedly, for I had merely complimented her on the choice of the flowers she had in her hair. Maybe I should simply have clapped at her music like everybody else.

Here's a little piece of gossip: I happen to know of a particularly distressing conversation between my friend Mme de Mussy and her tiring, relentless admirer Mr de La Fo--. Apparently, the would-be lover was either scorned in a touching proof of sentimental fidelity (“marital fidelity” is really quite inappropriate here) or rejected in a showcase of appalling disparage, depending on the point of view. The whole scene ended with de La Fo-- grovelling (in the metaphorical sense) pathetically at her feet. 

I shall give you the details next time you have dinner with me. Do not ask me how I know these things, I simply do, in the same way you always seem to know the juiciest news whenever you come back from a private dinner at our friend Beau--’s or Mme D’s, who are amongst your best friends. Mme de Mussy is amongst my best friends. I trust I make myself clear.

Second: I happen to know that monsieur Rev-- is in dire need of another fiancée, shall we say? Someone respectable enough to keep his family tranquil for a little time, while he arranges another of his numerous trips to the South, where I am told he is to be joined by his  dearest  monsieur Val--.

I trust you will be able to arrange everything, and help a couple of dear fellows out. The Lord knows they deserve some peace.

Third: Franz has written to me, I shall read the missive out loud at our next reunion.

Fourth: Raoul is coming back, bringing company and stories of horrid, appalling, shameful debauchery to enliven us and give us some new ideas, hopefully. 

I shall see you tonight, then. 

Albert

* * *

**Letter from Monsieur Albert Mondego, vicomte de Morcerf, to Monsieur Franz de Quesnel, baron d’Epinay, pensione Bertolini, via de’ Neri 13, Florence, Italy**

Paris, 27th March 183-

My Franz!

It’s good to hear from you, my dear, and I’m very glad you’re safe. Don’t forget to load your pistols at night and never go out alone. I boast of fearlessness and recklessness but, in truth (and never repeat this to anybody else), our little Roman adventure has taught me a valuable lesson which I won’t forget very soon.

But then who am I to fuss around you, when we both know you’ve always been the most prudent. You and me form a suitable pair, my dear, you with your cautiousness and me with my foolhardiness. 

Have you heard from the Count? I haven’t yet, I do hope he will come to our appointment (how I wish you could be here with us!), but to be perfectly honest I doubt it. It’s not that I think he wouldn’t remember: I don’t think so lowly of myself to believe he would merely forget about me , I simply have a strong suspicion that he may not be able to fulfill all his promises. Well, we shall see. 

In any case, I suspect I will need your help in proving the truthfulness of our adventure with good old Luigi Vampa, you would scarcely believe how little faith our friends have in me. I haven’t told anyone yet -- except Mother and Father -- I’ve simply hinted at something, and even that has gained scoffs and laughter and congratulations on my fervid imagination.

Château-Renaud wrote to me, he says he’s coming back from Algeria with a story himself. He says it is almost wilder than my own encounter with Vampa and his family. I suspect we will have a sort of battle of wits, except that instead of paradoxes and proverbs we will embroider our respective tales with the most improbable details.

Tell me about Florence and the countryside, if you can, and the boys and girls and men and women, I want to know everything. Don’t bother with waxing poetry, I want your true thoughts, as they are. You know they are very, very dear to me. 

In the meantime, do learn to draw better. Your lines are crooked and your circles are wobbly. I shall cherish both the sketch and the picture as a token of your love and affection.

Yours now and ever,

Your friend Albert


End file.
